


Red.

by plinys



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February Trope Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red roses on the bedside table that appear every few nights without fail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red.

**Author's Note:**

> So I tried something different with the style of this, and it's short, but I'm posting it anyways. Counting this for my "time travel" square, even though technically it plays loosely with the concept of Natasha not aging which was present in the comics, but hasn't shown up in the MCU (yet). Enjoy?

( Nobody knows exactly how they get there.

Red roses on the bedside table that appear every few nights without fail, new ones replacing the others just as they begin to wilt away.

The nurses have been trying to figure it out for years.

Whenever they mention it to their patient, as a casual question, the old woman just smiles at them with one of those soft sweet smiles.

They think they figure it out where they see the Captain stop by, that surely he has been the one playing Ms. Carter’s secret admirer all these years.

They’re wrong.  )

\---

When they ask her later when she remembers from the mission, all she’ll be able to say is “red.”

There’s blood on her hands, blood staining her lips red, blood on the blade that fell from numb fingers onto the floor with a clatter just before a sharp intake of breath.

They’ll write her words off as the red of spilled blood and nothing more, but they won’t understand the way her mark had looked that night.

Turning over her shoulder one last time, wide eyes staring out from behind a curtain on red, before disappearing out the window, never to be seen again.

\---

She follows the trail for months until it inevitably goes dry.

They tell her to put it to rest, to focus on the matter at hand, but they don’t understand.

This isn’t a personal vendetta, against a former housemate or a whole nation, but it’s so much more than that.

It’s so much more complicated than that.

\---

“What is it with your Russian girls and kissing me before you try to kill me?”

She doesn’t gets answer, but there’s a laugh on the other woman’s cherry stained lips, before she leans in once more.

Waking up alone hours later has never felt so unsatisfying. Even the satisfaction of being alive after that encounter seems numb in comparison to the memory of what for a few moments had been her reality.  

\---

They don’t see each other again for years, so many years that some nights she wonders if the other woman was just a dream.

A wonderful dream, which she would like to never forget, a dream of red.

Of blood, and battle, and love.

But a dream nevertheless.

That seems to be the only explanation, when she sees here again, because there’s no way ten years could have gone by without the other woman changing in the slightest.

She looks down at her own aging hands, before looking up to find her again, but she’s gone.

A dream, surely nothing more than that.

\---

It starts the day after that, a red rose on her pillow, placed there at some point between waking up and making her morning tea.

She leaves her window open every morning thereafter, until the years blur into an infinity.

\---

( “It’s been too long _Natalie_.” )

 


End file.
